The Purest Soul
by Silvertongued Dreams
Summary: Slight AU: "Oh, my dear, you've been quite a naughty girl: how shall I punish you?" - When a re-incarnation of Eve surfaces in London, Sebastian & Claude are back to their age-old rivalry; vying not only for the 'purest' soul, but the love of the woman who houses it... but, as they soon learn, nothing they think they all know about each other is what it seems. Sebastian/OC/Claude.
1. The Spider in the Dark

**Chapter I:  
The Spider in the Dark**

 _Dawn_. It was almost twilight, and Sebastian Michaelis could not have been sorrier for it. It truly was, as the mortals had come to say 'always darkest before the dawn'—and there was no other time that the demon butler liked better. He longed for the darkness, and the inevitable solace it brought. As he strolled down the abandoned halls of the Phantomhive Manor: the heels of his finely-polished shoes clicking against the marble floor, his sharp and watchful eyes carefully examined each room for the third time, scanning for any hidden threat that might trouble his young master. Normally, he did not take such extreme precautions, but, over the course of the past few nights, Sebastian could not shake the feeling that he was not alone in the darkness.

Left… or right? The aura seemed to constantly shift direction, overcome, each time, by the fleeting aroma of pomegranates and vanilla. Strange, but, in the service of Ciel Phantomhive, he had seen stranger. Nevertheless, the fact that he seemed to lose focus on the aura at the most key moments irritated him immensely. Something was thwarting his sense of direction—purposely _taunting_ him—and this puzzled him greatly. A demon had flawless tracking skills. So, what was this madness?

Sebastian's gaze darted back and forth: his complacent mask not once breaking as he made another turn down the hall, towards the library. Having regained focus once again, he noted that the aura seemed to be getting stronger with every step he took—only, this time, it did not escape his notice that, when he shone the dim light of the silver candelabra he held, that the shadows had ceased to dance, or to be visible at all. And, there was only one explanation for that.

 _A demon_. Sebastian's eyebrow twitched menacingly: the only emotion he allowed to leak to the surface. The Phantomhive Manor was an impressive fortress, guarded only by the ablest of souls… and the hungry demon who masterfully orchestrated their every move, as a puppet master would his prized puppets, could not help but feel enraged that his legendary senses had been undermined. How could a divine being have gotten past the Phantomhive Manor's superlative defenses—not to mention navigating with such impeccable skill through its vast labyrinth of pathways? It would be impossible for even an immortal to achieve such tasks, _unless_ said immortal had been to the Manor before _…_.

No. It couldn't be. But yet— _no,_ it _had_ to be him. Only he could have evaded Sebastian with such skill: a feat not easily accomplished.

"I shall have you know that if you so much as _touch_ my young master, not even the Devil himself will be able to save you from my clawed grasp," Sebastian whispered into the night air: "Claude Faustus."

A contented laugh emerged from behind Sebastian, only further enraging the demon butler. "I'm impressed, I must say, Sebastian Michaelis. What gave me away?"

"Even a spider cannot lurk in the shadows forever," Sebastian with a small growl.

"Such hostility—you really ought to be ashamed of yourself, Michaelis. What kind of a butler treats his house-guest in such a fashion?" Claude asked, placing an icy hand on the Phantomhive butler's shoulder. Leaning in close, he whispered in his ear: "Come to think of it—you really should be _thanking_ me. Had my intent been to steal away your young Lord's soul, I would most assuredly have done so. If I succeeded in evading your notice _this_ far, then what would have stopped me from making a grand feast out of your master?"

Sebastian paused for a moment, thinking pensively. Faustus had a point. Why had he not been able to accurately sense his presence sooner? It was certainly true that demons had the ability to mask their auras from others when they wished to do so, but, even then, being the superior demon butler that he was, Sebastian had to acknowledge the fact that he should have been able to locate Claude sooner than he had. Was he slipping? No. No, it couldn't be. He was one hell of a butler. Then, perhaps, were his demonic senses, somehow, subconsciously distracted? Was it possible that it had not been _Claude,_ but, that heavenly aroma, that had caused him to lose track of all else: dulling his abilities?

"—Has that boy's soul so _completely_ beguiled you?" Claude continued into Sebastian's ear, sounding a tad disappointed. "I daresay, I had expected more of you. You were once a legend amongst our kind, but now, _integrity_ … and loyalty to that aristocratic brat has tamed you. Did it ever occur to you that, for once, I might not be here to snatch away your precious dinner?"

Sebastian grunted as he wrestled out of Claude Faustus's grasp. "We have been vying for the same souls for thousands of years, old foe, yet, somehow, you still manage to speak in riddles."

Claude furrowed his brows: clearly confused. "Truly? You have not sensed it?! The heavenly perfume that lingers all about us yet strangely eludes us…so close, yet so far? It is enough to drive one mad!"

It was then that it hit him like a thunderbolt: moving to the forefront and taking him over completely, jolting his senses into a state of shock and pure ecstasy—drowning him in the sweet aroma of pomegranates and vanilla. So _that_ was what had hindered him from locating Claude earlier. The presence of that pervading scent—a scent unlike any Sebastian had smelled in a long, _long_ time. The scent of a pure and sinless soul.

A contented smile spread across Claude's face. "Ah… so, you have _finally_ realized it. A pure and sinless soul—a deadly elixir all demons crave to taste, but only get the chance to consume—once every two hundred years. As there has only ever been one human born without sin in her heart…."

" _Eve_ , the mother of all mankind," Sebastian responded in a hushed tone. "The time of her re-incarnation has arrived once again. But… why are you telling me this?"

Claude pursed his lips. "Why, as you so aptly put it earlier, _Sebastian_ —we have been rivals since the day we fell from heaven with our Master. I would like to offer up a challenge. Should you succeed in locating and marking the naïve, innocent re-incarnation of Eve, and form a binding contract with her before I do, I can personally guarantee that my master, Alois Trancy, will cease in his pursuit of Lord Phantomhive. And, if you lose—as a reward for my excellent prowess, you will surrender Ciel to me. Are the terms agreeable?"

"I would never sacrifice the safety of Lord Phantomhive—I vowed to serve him, always, and I intend to do so, regardless of what you may put before me."

"But you cannot deny that you are not tempted," Claude smirked. "A demon cannot change his sensibilities—much less a starving one such as yourself. I can see the hunger and thirst in your eyes. And, besides, I am out of practice. Even _I_ tire of endlessly changing day into night, sugar into salt, living into dead, and dark blue into gold." He paused, as if waiting for a response, but… none came. Sebastian looked away, trying to mask any expression. Seeing this, Claude continued: "Well, then, at least let me make you an offer." He whipped out a polished white envelope from the breast pocket of his uniform, and placed it inside Sebastian's. "Have your young master read this at his breakfast tomorrow morning. No doubt, he will be intrigued by the fact that my young master wishes to socially engage him once again."

"Indeed, he most likely would," Sebastian scoffed under his breath, letting out a small chuckle.

"I am quite certain he would also accept such a lucrative request, as he still suspects that my master's family was involved in the death of his own," Claude prodded. "Would you not agree?"

"On this matter, I cannot argue with you," Sebastian acknowledged, then, he began hesitatingly: "Very well. I shall give this invitation to Lord Phantomhive with his morning news… provided you vow on your eternal life that your pursuit of my young master will cease until this issue is resolved."

Claude cleared his throat in agreement, albeit a bit hesitantly. "But of course," he replied. "I am a demon of my word… that is the way of a Trancy butler."

* * *

 **AN./** I sincerely hope you all enjoyed the opening to this story I have crafted! I am relatively new to this fandom, so please, any sage advice is much appreciated! ALSO... I wish to make it known that, as a Christian Black Butler fan, I have decided that, for the sake of story-telling, even though it makes me slightly uncomfortable, I will be referring to Biblical heroes and heroines throughout, and weave them into integral parts of this story (also, keep in mind, in my rendition of this story, Sebastian and Claude may not be all they initially appear to be). Thank you all for reading, and, please, **REVIEW** **!**


	2. A Singular Opportunity

**Chapter II:  
A Singular Opportunity**

The following day, Ciel Phantomhive was awoken by the soft and cheery voices of robins that had nested under his bedroom window as his adept butler gently opened the curtain, and rays of warm sunshine danced upon the sheets where the boy lay.

"If you'll pardon me, my young master—it is now morning," Sebastian proclaimed in a nonchalant voice as he rested a tea tray on the table beside Ciel's luxuriant bed. "It is time to wake up.

"For today's breakfast, I have prepared a traditional Parisian omelet, with a side of fresh bacon and white toast smeared with butter, served with only the finest Darjeeling tea available. Should you decide that you crave something more sweet, I have taken the liberty of providing you with two selections of homemade preserves."

The words all sounded foggy as Ciel adjusted himself in bed and rubbed his tired eyes. In all honesty, _everything_ had seemed foggy to the young lord lately. Why did everything seem so strange to him as of late? The only sense of familiarity that echoed through the emptiness he felt was the presence of his loyal butler.

"Sebastian…" Ciel called out in a weary tone as his butler silently smoothed out the blankets and rested the bed food tray over the young lord's lap.

Immediately, the demon became alert, and bowed at the waist to his master. "Yes, my lord?"

"You… seem rather pensive. That is unlike you," he noted, shifting his gaze away from Sebastian as he took the floral teacup before him and sipped his morning tea.

"How very gracious of you to notice, my lord."

"Enough of that nonsense—if I have noticed that you are not your usual self, then that means you are slipping in your duties as my butler. You are not focused—that much is obvious. Did we not agree that no emotion was to be shown before me? You are my _butler,_ Sebastian… and I do not wish to be bothered by your petty, trifling affairs." He took another sip of his tea, purposely avoiding Sebastian's gaze. Although attempting to sound cold and strict, he knew that his butler would see through the veneer: that Ciel was, in actuality, offended by the fact that he had not confided in him. However, that would soon be remedied.

Clearly taken aback, Sebastian placed a gloved hand to his mouth, and, closing his eyes, gently cleared his throat. "My apologies, my lord. Now, with your leave, what has been troubling me will be of the utmost interest to you, I believe."

Ciel furrowed a brow. "Oh, really?" _Apparently, he_ did _plan to tell me what was pre-occupying him. I should not have misjudged him so readily._

"Yes," the butler replied: removing a small white envelope from his breast pocket: the same envelope that Claude Faustus had presented him only just the night before. "It would appear that we have received an invitation to stay at the Trancy estate for a time."

"Hmmph," Ciel returned, seemingly unimpressed, as he took the envelope from Sebastian, opening it and reading the contents of the letter contained within. His eye scanned the invitation slowly. "Earl Trancy certainly is a most _peculiar_ fellow. Nevertheless…" His voice trailed off. "…Perhaps accepting this invitation would be wise. It would give us ample opportunity to investigate the credibility of Alois Trancy as the heir to the Trancy estate, and delve into the possibility of this family's involvement in my parent's murders."

"That sounds quite reasonable, master."

"Then… that settles it," Ciel returned curtly. "Sebastian… I have a new assignment for you."

Sebastian knelt before the bed, inclining his ear expectantly.

"Tell the servants to ready my suitcases, and then, see to it that all my appointments for today have been cancelled." Little lord Phantomhive set aside the breakfast tray before Sebastian had a chance to move it, and flung back the blankets. "To hell with breakfast. As soon as I am bathed and dressed, we shall depart for the Trancy estate. Understood?"

Placing a hand delicately on his chest, Sebastian replied in a hushed whisper: "Yes, my lord."

 _… And, thank you, my lord. Now, I shall be free… free to pursue that treasured elixir, to woo it, and take it into my being, and, get ahead of Claude Faustus._

Pomegranates and vanilla never smelled so wondrous as they did now. The game was set. The pieces were moving… and the hunt to locate the purest soul was officially on.

Sebastian Michaelis smiled menacingly. He was ahead of Claude, and that was a beautiful feeling. _Indeed… I certainly_ am… _one_ hell _of a butler._

* * *

 **AN./** Thank you for your reviews! Please, keep them coming! I hope to update this quite frequently until it is concluded. God bless! And, _please..._ don't forget to **R &R**!


	3. Suffering Service to a Princely Pauper

**Chapter III:  
Suffering in the Service of a Princely Pauper  
**

 ** _Meanwhile, at the Trancy Estate…_**

" _Tighter_ , Claude! You must bind it tighter! _Focus!"_ Alois Trancy screamed demandingly: nudging Claude's head with his free foot. "Otherwise, my shoes might come loose, and we wouldn't want _that_ , would we?" he returned: arching a mischievous brow as he stared down with superiority, yet endearingly, at his butler.

"But of course, young master," Claude returned, not missing a beat as he deftly adjusted the apparel in question, and tugged the last, shiny black button through with the household's most fashionable buttonhook. _Dress a rat up in rich fabric of royal purple, and it is still a rat,_ Claude thought resentfully to himself: taking great care not to let his deep-rooted bitterness to show. The way that boy looked at him nauseated him. _I'll bind it tighter for you, your highness,_ he thought: adjusting the boot roughly. _And imagine that I am binding the rope by which I mean to hang you, so that I might_ consume _your lost, tormented soul, at long last._

"Aww, are you cross with me, Claude?" Alois pouted: unbuttoning two of his shirt buttons so as to add yet another meaningless task to his butler's list of chores. For such a perverted, self-absorbed, and seemingly clueless child, Claude Faustus had to admit that the boy was far more perceptive than he would have initially given him credit for.

Such menial tasks were below him, and it irked him. Alois's soul was a pesky one—tormented, and unstable. Had it really all been worth it? There were days when he truly wondered if forming a contract with this child of grief and pain had been wise. But, his soul had been so seasoned, so _ripe_ with pain and longing… no. No, he could not have been mistaken, he decided as he gingerly fixed the boy's pristine white shirt-collar. Even if his soul was less desirable than Ciel Phantomhive's, or of the sinless soul that had, as of yet, eluded him, Alois Trancy was still _his_ young master—a princely pauper, who had bought his way into the respectable world at a _heavy_ price—and he would make one hell of a feast out of him. _Mmm_ , yes he would.

The butler hastened to respond, but found himself unable to—before the words had come, his lips quavered: stammering silently. He did not have the same 'scruples' he had observed in Sebastian Michaelis, and, unlike him, had no qualms with lying. After all… had he not been constantly lying to Alois this whole time?

"You are—I can tell. _Don't bother lying to me!"_ Alois practically screamed. "I do not wish for you to be angry with me, Claude," he finished in a considerably gentler tone: looking away.

"As you well know, a butler—much less, a _demon_ butler, knows his place. Even if I had been cross with you, I would not be at liberty to say." He paused, looking up from the shoe he had been securing to meet the saddened gaze of Alois Trancy, and, ever so gently, gripped the calf of his leg: stroking it comfortingly. Such a pretty face. Such a _sad_ face. "Serving you is but a paltry price to pay for your succulent soul."

Was this a compliment? Alois smirked. "Yes… well. Let's not get carried away. We have guests arriving within the next day or two. The estate must be readied—you are the only one I trust to orchestrate it. I daresay, the rest of the household staff are _insufferably_ useless." The boy moved to rise from the canopy bed. "I can rely on you… can't I, Claude?" His voice sounded almost desperate. _Needing._

"In _everything,_ your highness," Claude returned in the softest and silkiest of tones. "Whatever your need is, whatever you desire—I will _always_ be here for you… 'til the very end."

Unlike Sebastian Michaelis, Claude Faustus did not get emotionally involved with his prey—unless it proved to be truly necessary. Emotion was weakness. _Love_ was weakness. He had seen what it had done to this poor boy. And, back then, when the world was still young, _so young,_ and enshrined in darkness….

 _No._ He would not let himself go there. The memories, though buried deep, were far too painful. And, it had been, on that day, every so many years ago, that he had decided that, no matter _what_ the cost, that the demon now known as Claude Faustus would vow to never _feel_ ever again.

And that was a vow that he fully intended to keep… if he could bring himself to.

* * *

 **AN./** Thank you all for reading! Hopefully, Alois was conveyed convincingly: I found it interesting to write for him, as I really can't stand the character... though I can appreciate the fact that others do, so I will do my best to convey him accurately as I see him. Once again, THANK YOU for all of your feedback! Your reviews have been phenomenal and I am truly _thrilled_ that you all like where I am going with this story. Please, do continue to **R &R**! Your reviews are fuel—they motivate me to work faster! **:o)** Also… please visit my profile page, if you wish… there, I have links to my Facebook fan page which, if you 'follow', it, you will be given immediate updates each time a new chapter on any of my fanfictions is posted. Thanks, once again! And, God bless!


	4. Game, Set, and Match

**Chapter IV:  
"Game, Set, and Match."  
**

The Phantomhive staff stood before the grand stairwell in the main hall, lined up against the wall as they waited anxiously for the master to speak to them. Each moment of silence was torturous. It was not often that Ciel Phantomhive requested personal audience with the household staff—and the fact that Sebastian was also present made the situation all the more terrifying. Despite all the incredible talents that had ensured their places in the Phantomhive household, the servants could not help but feel tense as the young boy and his demon butler eyed them meticulously.

"Ohhh, I simply can't stand it anymore, no, I can't!" shrieked Mey-Rin, the resident bumbling housemaid: clasping her hands to her face. For all her hyperactivity, fawning over Sebastian constantly, and her seeming 'far-sightedness', no one in their right mind would guess that she was, in actuality, an expert assassin with special eyes. "Tell us what you want or we'll go absolutely bleedin' mad, yes we will!"

"Why, there is no need to fret, Mey-Rin," Ciel returned in an unusually soft, saccharine tone. "I perfectly intend to tell you what is on my mind."

"Then, i' you don't mind me sayin', how about gettin' to the point already, y' know?" Bardroy, a retired soldier and self-proclaimed 'chef', began in slightly annoyed tones, to which Sebastian gave him a menacing glare.

Bardroy shrugged.

Ciel seemed to ignore this little outburst, and continued on: "It's quite simple, really. I must be off to London at once, and I leave the manor in your charge."

"You are going out again, young master?" Finni, the Phantomhive's adorable, timid, and eager-to-please gardener, asked sweetly: making sure not to touch anything with his super-strength endowed hand. "But, you just returned from a case. Shouldn't you rest awhile?"

"I am certain I do not need to tell you that the Queen's guard dog never sleeps," Ciel chided in response to Finni's concern, to which the servant hung his head in silence. "Though, as Fate would have it, the invitation I received this morning from Earl Alois Trancy to join him at his manor for a time has presented a singular opportunity. It not only affords me a relaxed environment in which to recover from my last assignment, but, also, it provides the perfect cover for silent, subtle, and _thorough_ investigation." Lord Phantomhive chuckled almost inaudibly. He was quite the _clever_ little devil, he had to admit. "But, alas, I get ahead of myself. As Sebastian and I shall be leaving presently for the Trancy estate, I fully expect each of you to keep up the manor befittingly in our absence," Ciel finished in his usual, monotone fashion: glancing downward as he nonchalantly tugged on his black, leather kid gloves. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Master!" they all replied in unison: saluting in an admittedly silly fashion.

At this reassurance, Ciel turned to his butler. "Sebastian, I trust you shall inform the staff of the tasks you've prepared for them, as you deem necessary?"

"Yes, my Lord," Sebastian returned submissively: bowing ever so slightly at the waist. He then brought a gloved hand up to his mouth and delicately cleared his throat, proceeding to astonish everyone with the speed and efficiency in which he gave out the following orders:

"Finni: trim the Japanese bushes along the entrance of the estate regularly, and make sure to weed the area around the greenhouse; I can see that you have been neglecting that lately, and it simply _won't_ do."

"Aye-aye, Sebastian!" Finni returned timidly.

"—Mey-rin, darling: you really _must_ attempt to be more careful when attending your daily chores," he chided in a gentle, sweet, yet firm tone: using endearments to ensure that he caught the infatuated young maid's attention. She blushed hot red when he referred to her as 'darling' in his oh-so-silky voice. "Understand? I shall not be here to assist you should you blunder in your usual fashion." He smiled charmingly as he said this, to which Mey-rin stammered like a mad fool: "Y—Yes, Sebastian!"

"And, finally…" Sebastian's tone grew much darker as he shifted his eyes towards Bardroy, who, all this time, had begun to close his eyes and started to fall asleep against the stairwell: "Bardroy, _try_ not to blow anything up when we're gone. Neither I _or_ my young master fancy the idea of returning to an estate that's been turned to embers."

"Right, fine, Sebastian. I'll do whatever the hell you want, y' know, but it won't be easy stayin' from my explosives. I'm a soldier through and through, after all—I can't seem to get used to peace and quiet," Bardroy returned: giving the cigarette in his mouth a hearty puff.

"Nothing worth anything is ever easy," Sebastian remarked, glancing an admiring look down at Ciel Phantomhive, whilst his mind wandered towards the prospect of winning the soul of re-incarnated Eve. He then swiftly turned to the final member of the household staff: the small, bespectacled elderly man who had been butler before Sebastian. "Tanaka I leave everything in your capable hands."

"Ho, ho, ho," Tanaka muttered cheerily into his tea cup: watching as the tea leaves stood on edge.

Sebastian cracked his rare but charming smile. "Very good, then," he returned: satisfied. "If I may, my Lord, I believe that we have nothing more to say here."

"Excellent," Ciel replied, turning to depart—his dark cape swirling dramatically behind him. "Come along, Sebastian. I'd very much like to make it to the Trancy estate before nightfall."

"Yes, my Lord."

* * *

Some hours later, the Phantomhive stagecoach went over an abrupt rut in the road, rousing the young lord from a sound slumber. The ride had proven to be quite boring: at first it had not been so tiresome, when farmlands had provided an idyllic view, but as soon as the countryside had been abandoned and the carriage had made its way into the city, Ciel had grown weary of staring at nothing but smoke and smog, and the heaviness of the air had lulled him into a deep sleep.

Ciel moaned softly as he adjusted himself, and when he awoke and looked upward, he was mortified to find that he had fallen asleep against his butler's chest.

Sebastian smirked down at him, clearly restraining a chuckle. "Why, you've awaken, my young lord. Such a shame—you were looking rather… 'adorable', as you humans would say."

Ciel recoiled at his butler's jest, and Sebastian looked ahead: letting that smirk develop into a playful smile.

"Do not use that word to refer to me again… do you understand, Sebastian?" Ciel ordered irritably: crossing his arms as he shifted ever so slightly away from his butler.

Sebastian feigned a look of disappointment, but yet another smirk surfaced in its place: tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, my lord, but you did not order me to. Unless you order me directly, I am at my liberty to label you so to my heart's content," he reminded him with a soft laugh.

"I order you, Sebastian… to never use that word again."

Sebastian scratched his chin for a moment. "Oh, dear. Now, that might be rather difficult. Seeing as the word plays a significant role in the English language when referring to things that are attractive or endearing, finding a way to navigate around using this word in fitting situations without sounding _completely_ awkward might prove to be a challenge, even for me—"

"Sebastian, just what the _hell_ are you playing at?" Ciel exclaimed in frustration.

"I merely noted that you seemed bored, my young master, and thought that this interactive banter might prove to be sufficient entertainment for the remainder of our journey," Michaelis replied with seeming innocence.

Lord Phantomhive scoffed, avoiding his butler's gaze as he leaned forward to look out of the window.

"Well, I suppose you have done your job adequately, Sebastian… as we appear to have arrived at the Trancy manor," he finished anti-climactically, reclining back into the lush, royal-purple, gold-fringed cushions of the stagecoach.

* * *

As the stage rolled to a halt, and Ciel Phantomhive alighted from the carriage with elegant grace, the cobblestones in the pathway to the Trancy estate crunched under the dense black heels of his shoes.

"For a person who loves fanfare, I'm fairly surprised that Earl Trancy did not prepare more elaborately for our arrival," Ciel remarked: scanning the surroundings with a skeptical air.

"Knowing the young earl, he may just surprise us yet, master," Sebastian remarked with a slight chuckle. "This is _Alois Trancy_ we are speaking of, after all."

As if on cue, the blonde-haired child rushed out from the double-doors to the vast mansion, and charged towards Ciel.

"Oh, dear," Sebastian groaned: resting his face in his palms. "Master, would you care for me to intervene?"

"No, I'm certain I shall be _fiiii—!"_ the boy's sentence ended in a terrified scream as the Trancy heir tackled him with great impact.

"Ciel!" he exclaimed, practically pouncing Lord Phantomhive. Ciel grunted at the impact, and backed away as soon as he could pry himself from Alois's tight grasp.

" _Honestly,_ you're worse than Lizzie," Ciel mumbled under his breath: straightening out the new wrinkles in his coat.

"Oh, I'm _so_ glad you could come and join us!" Alois squeaked, completely ignoring Ciel's jab. "You're the guest of honor, you know, so _really,_ this whole party would have been an utter failure if you hadn't shown up."

"You neglected to mention that you were hosting a _party_ in your invitation," Ciel returned, bemused, and slightly irritated. "Not to mention, one being held in my honor. Whatever for? As far as I am concerned we're straddling the line between annoying acquaintances and enemies."

"Now, now, that's not very nice," Alois pouted: pursing his lips as he came up behind Ciel: tugging at the corners of the young lord's lips. "Come, on! Smile for me, Ciel!"

"—Young master, if I may, you do seem to be stressing Lord Phantomhive," came the soft yet gently reproachful voice of Claude Faustus as he approached Alois from behind, and rested a gloved hand on his shoulder.

"It is not your place to tell me what I can and cannot do," Alois returned huffily, kicking Claude in the foot. The butler did not budge, however, and merely replied, with no note of pain in his voice: "A thousand apologies, your highness, but the number one priority of a Trancy butler is to ensure the comfort of the estate's guests."

"Well, I suppose you are right," Alois returned in an almost inaudible whisper: wriggling free. Clearing his throat, he then added: "And, in regards to your previous remark, Ciel, I did not inform you about the true nature of your visit, as I gathered you would not show up."

 _"For once, from that mouth comes logic and reason,"_ Sebastian whispered into Ciel's ear, to which the latter donned a sarcastic smile.

"Well, it is of no consequence," Lord Phantomhive said in response to Alois. "We are here now, and I am certainly in no hurry to venture back through that smog anytime soon."

Alois clapped his hands in glee. "Oh, hooray!"

"If I may," Sebastian began, stepping forward and giving Claude a meaningful glance, which was not ignored: "evening will soon be upon us. Should we not venture indoors before chill sets in?"

"But of course," Claude bowed respectfully at the waist, stepping aside so Ciel might pass through, accompanied by a chatty Alois.

The two boys did not seem to notice it when the two butlers lagged behind. As the masters vanished out of sight and into the vast dining hall, the demons were left to themselves.

"I am glad that you took advantage of my offer," Claude returned in a flat and emotionless tone, made all the more eerie by the sickening smile that threated to dawn on his face.

"It was simply too delicious to ignore," Sebastian returned, smiling winsomely, bowing at the waist in a polite fashion. "Even _I_ must admit that my senses have been tantalized by that enchanting scent… particularly more so, since you directed me towards its source."

"Do not mistake my offer as an invitation to share in the spoils," Claude was hasty to add.

"But of course not," Sebastian returned. "As always," he broke off, tugging his white kid gloves on tighter, with his teeth: "I am up for a challenge."

"A duel between butlers…."

"This shall be the battle of our spiritual age," Sebastian returned thoughtfully: scoffing with a smile as he turned to face the double-doors. "And our actions here may well set the world ablaze with chaos and fear. As we set up our pieces, and orchestrate them to our will, it's all up to us, the players, to see how this elaborate game of chess will play out."

"Chess?"

"But of course. It is the game my young master most fancies," Sebastian returned with a smirk. "So, I suppose, there's only one thing left to say." He paused for dramatic effect, finishing with a whisper as he disappeared into the manor, brushing past Faustus: " _Game… set… and match."_

* * *

 **This chapter is dedicated to my friend, supporter, and fellow FFN author,** geminigrrl **, who is not feeling well at the moment. Get well soon, my dear!**

 **Also, I apologize for the lateness of this chapter, and hope that its length makes up for the wait. I've been super busy, but now that things are winding down, I should be able to update fast again.**

 **Please,** R&R **! Let me know what you loved/would like to see more of. I promise, Eve's re-incarnation will be making her debut in the next chapter!**

OF NOTE **: Please visit my profile page and vote on the poll I created, which regards how updates should be posted on both "The Purest Soul" and my PotC story, "My Once in a Lifetime". Thank you for your time!**

Disclaimer: **I do not own Black Butler, though I do own my OC.**


	5. Enter Evelyn Cardew

**Chapter V:  
Enter Evelyn Cardew  
**

"A thousand apologies, your highness," came the unusually flustered voice of Claude Faustus as he reached over Alois's shoulder to sop up some tea with the cloth napkin he had had tucked up his sleeve.

Sebastian Michaelis, who had been silently observing his rival butler during this lapse of concentration, eyed Claude triumphantly: a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "A proper butler would not merely clean up his blunder, but eradicate any memory of it _completely,"_ he remarked: pulling out the tablecloth with flourish—the china tea set, cutlery, and decked out dinner all settling back down with a gentle clatter, unharmed.

Alois raised a brow, but didn't say a word: giving Ciel a meaningful glance. He'd never seen Claude this inept… and, for him, that was unnerving. Lord Phantomhive merely watched on… intrigued. Folding his hands together neatly, he returned Alois's gaze, and silently urged the boy to remain quiet as the scene played out—and the latter seemed to understand.

"—But of course. You are absolutely right," Claude returned, flustered, excusing himself from the room after he'd collected up the overturned teacup and passed by Sebastian: giving him an icy look as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Sebastian was not blind—Claude was being strongly affected by the scent of 'the purest soul'. Even he _himself_ was having a difficult time resisting its distraction: but he had promised the utmost service to Lord Ciel Phantomhive, and he fully intended to keep true to their demonic contract… even if it made him suffer. Yet again, his superior mastery of restraint played to his advantage—perhaps the young lord would remain in the dark as to his intentions for a little while longer; if he admitted it to himself, he would rather not involve Ciel in such affairs. _It would appear that a demon can have a sense of honor, after all,_ Sebastian mused as he cleared his master's place at the table: giving Ciel a wan smile. _I just hope that it does not kill me._

 _Even so,_ keeping up appearances for the young master was proving to be far more difficult than the Michaelis had expected. Again, the flawless butler found himself fighting the powerful pull of pomegranates and vanilla: luring him in—making him falter here and there, with subtle slip-ups and minute errors that he knew had not gone unnoticed. The scent had undeniably grown much stronger since Sebastian and his young master had arrived at the Trancy estate, and that fact hadn't gone unobserved by _either_ of the hellish butlers. As always, the scent ever-loomed, tantalizing their senses, teasing them with the as-of-yet unattainable… tickling their wanton appetites with lust for the elixir that that sweet aroma represented: an aroma that was getting closer by the hour, as if it was playing right into the hands of himself and his rival. He had to admit, he found that quite strange… but he was not about to complain. Perhaps, the time to feast would be sooner than his anxious lips had anticipated.

 _I need to hold on,_ Sebastian reminded himself: standing straight. _Just for a little bit longer._

 _Only a few more hours. Once the young masters have retired to their respective chambers for the evening… the hunt for the purest soul will commence._

* * *

It had been nearly two hours since Sebastian Michaelis and his young master had arrived at the Trancy estate, and the sun had all but disappeared from the sky. Dinner had been exceptionally quiet— _odd,_ considering the company. Alois's lack of conversation, in all honesty, had been unnerving, but Ciel suspected that there was a reason for the earl's uncharacteristically reserved demeanor, particularly when he caught him giving him meaningful looks all throughout dinner. It was quite unnerving, actually. But, Ciel kept to himself, waiting for the opportune moment to query Alois Trancy. It was clear to him that the earl wished to talk to him when no one else was present… and now, left alone with the young earl in the drawing room, he wondered how soon it would be until Alois came crawling to him with whatever was pressing upon his mind. _Not that he particularly cared._

"You know, for a party _supposedly_ thrown in my honor… I find the festivities to be quite _dull_ ," Ciel remarked, adjusting himself in the throne-like chair upon which he sat: draping his left arms elegantly over the side of one of the gold-stained, carved wooden armrests. "Not that I much care for parties. I find them all to be rather lacking in good taste, these days."

"You act as though you've been around for hundreds of years!" laughed Alois: giving him a mischievous smirk. "But, do not worry… your hours of boredom will soon be a distant memory," he began, waving his hand through the air. "The rest of my guests arrive tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, you shall have to make due with me."

"And your clearly inferior chess-playing skills, apparently," Ciel remarked, gesturing to their yet unfinished game. As the young lord moved to take his next turn, Alois realized that he had made a glaring error on his last move: leaving his queen completely vulnerable.

"Oh, now, _that's not fair!"_ Alois whined, resting his chin in his hand: his elbow propped on the table in a rather lazy fashion: pursing his lips into a pout. The Trancy heir was never one to take defeat lightly, even if said defeat was restricted to a mere game of chess.

Ciel took in his opponent's displeasure and smiled smugly as he advanced his black knight, and gently removed Alois's white queen from the chessboard. The fireplace in the small, dark, and intimate drawing room flickered ominously: illuminating the young lord's face as he stared with intensity at his opponent's now slightly-bulging eyes. " 'Fair'? Such a petty concept. One would have thought, Alois, that you, of all people, would have learned that there is no such thing— _especially_ in chess. The rules may dictate that our pieces may only move in specific ways: designated by others to follow the norm, but _we_ are the real masters. We orchestrate our pieces to move as we see fit—and our pieces, are, most certainly, _far_ from ordinary… or, 'fair', by anyone's standards. And so, the rules do not apply to us."

"I imagine your little speech is no longer directed towards our game," Alois returned, sitting up straight and crossing his arms as he locked intense gazes with Ciel.

"You would be correct," the young lord replied. "In order to survive this in this ghastly word, controlled by fear and puppeteered by the cruel hands of whatever _god_ may preside over us," he emphasized bitterly, "it is a lesson we both have learned quite well: as members of the human race, we _all_ have to pay our dues… and some of us have had to pay a steeper price than others. But, nevertheless, the infinite power and control that you and I, specifically, have gained, makes it all worthwhile. I am, of course, referring to our butlers. Our… _special pieces,_ if you will."

"Ah, so you have guessed my Claude's true nature, then?" Alois returned with a smirk. "How very clever of you."

"Not _so_ clever, really," Ciel began, "especially if you know what signs to watch for. He may not possess the same flair as Sebastian, but rather, he is more subtle, and lurks in the shadows… and that is part of what made me even more suspicious of him."

"You find my butler to be somehow lacking, do you?" Alois queried: waving one of his 'fallen' bishops in his hand as he spoke. "I can assure you, you would be _quite_ mistaken."

"No, not at all," Ciel responded. "In fact, it was by observing _him_ earlier that I started to mull over things that have not been adding up concerning my _own_ butler, and began to formulate a theory surrounding some peculiar behaviors Sebastian has been exhibiting over the course of the past few weeks. The suave yet emotionless mask Sebastian wears has been gradually cracking—I've seen it coming on for some time, but had chosen to ignore it until now. These changes make no logical sense, unless one considers a certain type of… _supernatural_ _interference."_ Ciel reached for the half-empty floral china teacup on the end-table by his side, and took a delicate sip. His eyes half-shut, he proclaimed in a soft tone: "Pardon me for mentioning it, but, did it not seem to you that _both_ of our butlers seemed rather… _distracted_ … all throughout dinner?" He aimed his gaze pointedly at Alois, waiting for the moment when the boy would put all of the pieces together.

"Sebastian prides himself on executing all of his tasks promptly, in a timely and efficient manner," Ciel began; "charging on, always, with a winsome smile, and unrivaled focus: just as Claude takes pride in all he does for your sake. Though they may not be much alike, they are butlers, but, first and foremost, they are _demons:_ the only thing that takes precedence over their service to us. _"_

"Are you…" Alois faltered, "implying that Claude and Sebastian have been behaving strangely because something is interfering with their demon sensibilities?"

"As I said, it is merely a theory," Ciel replied: tapping his fingertips together repeatedly. "But as demon's masters, we cannot ignore the possibility that what might be causing these differences in our demon-butlers could be a symptom of something _far_ more serious."

Alois Trancy paused for a moment, lost in thought. "Then, what do you suggest… Lord Phantomhive?"

Leaning across the table dramatically as he locked intense gazes with Alois, Ciel responded: "Let's keep a close eye on them, for the time being," he whispered. "Think of it as a game. I have a feeling that we shall not be easily disappointed."

"Another game, eh?" Alois chuckled. "I do so like your way of thinking, Ciel Phantomhive."

And at those words, the young lord sported an uncharacteristically mischievous grin. "But of course. An expert chess master _must_ keep careful watch over his pieces, after all," he finished, toppling over Alois's white king as he quitted the room: retiring to his chambers for the evening.

* * *

 _ **Meanwhile, in a small cottage in the suburbs of London…**_

"Hurry! We must _hurry_ , Miss Cardew," came a man's voice: a note of urgency in his silken voice. "We don't have much time. They will soon be here."

A loud and insistent knock at the door made the young woman practically jump out of her skin—over the course of the past few days, even the slightest noise had set her on edge. But when the soft and gentle hands of the man who had just spoken to her rested reassuringly on her shoulders, her muscles relaxed just enough to prod her into moving faster. _I'll be safe. I'll be safe. As long as_ he's _with me._

Anyone who had known Evelyn Cardew even _remotely_ well would never have described her life as 'exciting'. The daughter of a middle-class merchant who had made a name of himself by trading in foreign spices overseas, Evelyn had always lived by the sea—though the fact that she lived in such a small community didn't prevent her from being just as cultured as, and, perhaps, even more _intelligent_ than young ladies of London high society: her father's hard work had seen to that, and with the instruction of a private tutor, despite her somewhat sheltered upbringing, she was able cultivate her interests fully, and keep an open mind. As proficient in kindness as she was at playing the pianoforte and reciting Shakespeare and Jane Austen, Evelyn was reputed to be a sweet and generous soul, and _loved_ by all who she knew. Her life had been quixotic, quaint, and nearly perfect… and although her mother had passed away when she had been a babe in arms, and had been raised primarily by her widow aunts when her father was away on business, her little family had always managed to find a way to be happy: surviving any disaster that was thrown at them.

That is, until _that day_.

The day when those well-dressed men in immaculate suits had shown up at her door, all donning spectacles unlike any she had ever seen before, 'warning' her of impending danger—but, she did not believe them. At the time when they first emerged, they'd seemed harmless enough, but that was over a week before. Ever since that day, she had become more self-aware: she was being followed—watched like a hawk, and she could not _begin_ to imagine why. It made her _nervous_. She hadn't done anything wrong… so, why were they following her so ruthlessly? If she _were_ really in danger— _(the idea was ludicrous, she had to admit)_ —then why did it seem as though _they_ were the enemy she had to avoid to survive?

Thankfully, Evelyn had not had to struggle alone for long. She had found an unexpected friend and protector in Lancelot Beauvair; a lavender-coated gentleman who had quickly proven that he knew what to do, and was up for the task: his smooth, honeyed voice assuaging most all her fears.

 _"Miss Cardew…"_ Lancelot's voice whispered lushly into her ear: prompting her to move faster. Her heart began to race again as the pounding at the door once again increased: the latch on the door rattling. What made the suited visitors even more terrifying to her was the fact that they hardly ever spoke.

"Yes. I'm ready," she replied: determined.

"We must climb out the window, I'm afraid," he replied quietly as he gestured to the small opening in the wall that posed as a window. "My apologies. A lady such as yourself should not have to undergo such an ordeal, but I am afraid that our circumstances do not allow for following the most ideal forms of etiquette." Although soft and kind, she could tell that Lancelot was uncomfortable with this arrangement, and so, Evelyn sought to set his mind at ease.

"Just as long as I can make it out of here in one piece," she began, gathering up her skirts, "I do not mind the slightest if we bend the rules a bit."

And with those words, she kissed him delicately on the cheek, and, with his assistance, pushed her suitcase out through the window, and soon followed suit: landing in the some bushes.

"Are you all right, Miss Cardew?" Beauvair asked, rushing to kneel by her side once he'd disentangled his long legs from the narrow window frame.

"Yes, thank you," she panted.

"We shall have to walk by foot awhile," Lancelot acknowledged, "I am sorry to say. But, never fear. Once we reach a busier part of town, we can hail a carriage." He paused, meeting her gaze intently. "Where do you wish to go, Miss Cardew?"

"Anywhere," she replied. "Anywhere but here. Just, _please,_ keep me safe," she smiled wanly.

He bowed ever so slightly at the waist. "As you wish, my lady."

* * *

 _ **Back at the Trancy estate…**_

The air was bitter and cold—Sebastian Michealis could not conceive why Claude Faustus had insisted that they meet outside so late. Even though it was a summer evening, the season was young yet, and the night chill nipped and sliced at the Phantomhive butler's cheek.

"I hope I did not keep you waiting long," Claude's voice came from behind Sebastian: his tone low and almost bored. "My young master wished for me to stay with him until he fell asleep."

Sebastian chuckled into his glove, but then, regaining his composure, said: "But of course. It is a butler's duty, after all, to see after his master's every care: no matter how menial or tedious the task."

Claude completely ignored Sebastian's remark, and adjusted his spectacles. "It's a full moon tonight," he noted.

"Then, let us waste no more time," Michaelis returned, leaping into the air.

" _Ah, yes…"_ the Trancy butler sighed contentedly: "now, the game is afoot," he smirked, joining his demon rival in a flight through the air: their black forms silhouetted against the full moon that hung in the midnight sky.

* * *

AN./ **Once again, I apologize for the delay in my posting. I realize it has only been 11 days since I uploaded the last chapter, but I still feel bad. Aside from wrapping up a crazy work week, and slaving over this chapter each night, it wasn't until a little while ago that I realized what I had been writing** _ **just wasn't working**_ **. So, I went back to the drawing board, salvaged what I could, and, also, after great thought, decided to implement** lostfeather1 **'s idea concerning Alois and Ciel's investigation of their butlers, and what they will do/what game** _ **they**_ **will play once they discover just how special 'Eve' is. So, anyway, I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Tell me what you thought of Eve! And, also,** PLEASE **don't forget to** _R &R_ **for me! Thank you!**


	6. Bloodlust

**Chapter VI:  
Bloodlust  
**

"I believe we may have finally lost them," Lancelot panted: daring to look over the stone wall once he had determined that the coast was clear. Rain dripped down in his nose in long, well-traveled paths as thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, signaling the approach of oncoming lightning.

Cloaked by the cover of an ever-falling darkness, Lancelot and his charge had managed to conceal themselves from unfriendly eyes as they trudged down endless stretches of backroads and open fields: their shadows melding perfectly with the reflections cast by the gray heavens that loomed above them.

Cold, wet, and miserable, Evelyn shivered.

"Goodness gracious, how remiss of me. You must be chilled to the bone," Beauvair whispered: a look of concern etched upon his brow.

"Curse this weather. Of course, it just _had_ to rain!" Miss Cardew mumbled. "And I was beginning to think that things couldn't possibly get worse."

Lancelot turned to her: his violet eyes sharp and aware, and full of surprise. "Really?" he questioned. "I was just thinking what a godsend it is, now that it is masking our scent."

She returned the look of puzzlement, looking rather offended. "Why, do I emit some kind of unpleasant odor that these wretched creatures are determined to hunt me down?!"

"Oh, quite the contrary, my dear," he returned with the softest and gentlest of chuckles: whipping off his pale white coat jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Now, do try to not be so cold and miserable, and forget that I worried you with any of this nonsense."

The young woman looked away: whimpering when she moved to adjust her foot, only to discover that she had hurt it badly, and it was bleeding.

"Oh, no," Evelyn proclaimed: terrified as she looked down at the pool of blood at her feet. " _Lancelot…."_

Her guardian looked downward, raising his eyebrows.

"My God," he replied: hastily tearing a corner off of her frock to tend to the wound. "We must flee. _At once!_ No amount of rain will keep us safe for long, now."

And with that, he flung her arm over his shoulder, and struggled through the mud… all the while, unaware that the league of Shinigami currently chasing after them would soon be the _least_ of their worries.

* * *

 _ **Some Hours Later…**_

With the most agile of grace, the demonic pair of butlers landed in the middle of a verdant field, panting exhaustedly. The dew left by the evening's earlier downpour had become all but a distant memory. Although both Claude and Sebastian were _more_ than well enough equipped to deal with any form of undesirable weather, they had been fortunate enough to dodge most of the wet… although, it had temporarily crippled their search for the purest soul.

The grass rustled faintly beneath Sebastian Micahelis's finely polished black boot as he adjusted himself, rising from the kneeling position he had landed in. Dare he admit it… was that a bead of _sweat_ upon his brow?

In all the years he had roamed the Earth in various forms and incarnations, Sebastian, the illustrious crow, as he had been so named by the Lord of Hell himself, was hard pressed to recall an instance where he had even once faced a challenge as insurmountable as the one that faced him now.

"We appear to have lost her scent," Claude remarked: his upper lip curling up into a sneer. "Damn and blast."

"Honestly, my dear Faustus, it is rather unseemly for a gentleman's gentleman such as yourself to stoop to such a level of vulgarity," Sebastian chuckled softly into his white kid glove: rising to his feet while wearing a smirk indicative of the fact that he wasn't concerned in the slightest. "We must never fail to keep up appearances in a manner that would serve our masters proud, after all."

The Trancy butler shot an evil glare at Sebastian. In that moment, there was no mistaking that the pathetic creature before him was a ravenous demon out for blood: an appetite that would not _easily_ be sated.

Michaelis closed his eyes a moment, remembering. Oh, he remembered that feeling—as a fledgling demon, there was nothing quite like the rush of capturing and consuming a human soul. That thirst for blood: an unquenchable desire to lap up all of the most debauched souls that humanity could birth: he could never get enough. The life of a demon promised much, but it also came at a great cost. Especially over the course of the past five hundred years, willing human souls were becoming more and more difficult to come by, and Sebastian had had to learn to temper his appetite, and to savor each scrumptious soul until the last moment of its fleeting existence—for, as he had come to know all too well—the feast may be delectable, but even its incomparable pleasure is fleeting as memories of luxuriant decadence fade into oblivion, only to be replaced with agonizing pangs of hunger in a fast that could last a _lifetime_.

Yet, despite such a bleak prospect, Sebastian could not help but smirk a bit at the thought of the sumptuous delicacy of a pure, untainted soul. He wished to hoard it, to have it all to himself… to be the _first_ to corrupt it—to _taste_ its sweet nectar—then slowly consume it: the talons of the Crow enveloping it in the slow, sweet seduction of evil. Oh, yes. By the time he'd finished toying with his precious prey, he'd have her practically _begging_ to make love to the darkness. And, only then could he shed that veil of feigned temperance and fully give in to the wildest fantasies his sage demon imagination could conjure.

At that thought, the apparently calm and collected Phantomhive butler smirked: his upper lip curling up in sly amusement as his keen nose picked up the faintest of scents on the breeze.

 _Pomegranates and vanilla._

Sebastian turned sharply to his rival: letting out a contented chuckle when he realized that the Trancy butler had yet to pick up on the re-emergence of the soul's presence—not that Michaelis was entirely surprised: while Faustus was indeed an incredibly capable demon, and had had the edge on Sebastian when his concentration had been focused solely on his duties as a butler rather than a demon, such astute skills of perception would only be expected of one of the Devil's original servants, such as the elite Sebastian himself.

"—Oh, I wouldn't worry, if I were you," the black butler said at length, stooping down to pick up a pebble at his feet: "Given your borderline vampiric sensibilities, and the fact that I can still detect a faint trace of our fair lady's scent, I doubt that our pursuit will remain crippled for much longer." He sounded almost smug as he threw the pebble a few yards ahead.

For a moment, Faustus's mouth stammered—his lips moving to speak, though no words came.

Sebastian looked away, relishing the astonished look on his rival's face.

"Wh—Why are you telling me all this?" Claude managed after regaining his composure.

Michaelis could not help but scoff at Faustus's response, and ever so slowly, began to rise to his feet as he followed the delicious fragrance he so craved to claim as his own.

" _Why,_ do you ask? How very imperceptive of you," the Phantomhive butler began, turning to look at Claude. "Then, again, I really shouldn't be too surprised… even in your human shell, you could not escape your narrow-sightedness," he finished, gesturing to Faustus's spectacles.

Faustus cleared his throat, twitching under Sebastian's glare ever so slightly as he adjusted his glasses: his back turned to Michaelis. "At least grant me the courtesy of answering my question, demon," Claude mumbled, attempting to keep his temper in check.

"Because, I savor the challenge," Sebastian returned, stopping abruptly when his next step forward landed his immaculate shoes in an abyss of crimson.

"Michaelis?" Claude called out: his words scarcely reaching his rival's ears.

For a moment, the entire world went silent, and Michaelis let out a series of shallow, gasping breaths. For a moment, he let it take him over—the excitement, the devilish delight, and the boiling bloodlust of his demon nature: _he couldn't help himself._ _**She was here.**_ He wanted to hoard this discovery all to himself—to _alone_ bask in the revelry of this debauched pleasure, but he knew that concealing his findings from Faustus would be going against the rules of fair competition: a rule that even demons respected enough to follow.

" _Faustus,"_ he managed in an urgent, hoarse whisper as he dipped his gloved finger in the pool of blood by his feet and brought it up to his lips with cautious reverence. _Oh, such a sweet nectar!_ The taste of Eve's blood jostled him into a state of pure ecstasy.

"What is the commo—oh, hell!" Faustus cried, rushing over to Sebastian's side. The Phantomhive butler was frozen stiff: a look of absolute delight plastered all over his face.

Tugging off his glove and discarding it, revealing a set of perfectly manicured black nails, Claude ever so gently rested his hand on Sebastian's shoulder: inclining his face into the latter's neck. _"Sebastian…."_ His breath felt warm against the Crow's neck.

Almost instantaneously, Michaelis snapped out of his reverie: recoiling in disgust. "Kindly refrain from doing that ever again, Faustus. Do you understand?!"

Claude cleared his throat: trying in vain to hold back an uncharacteristic chuckle. "There. I thought that would do the trick."

"Yes… erm, I suppose I should thank you for that much, at least," Sebastian returned, stooping down once again to examine the blood more closely. "Though, did you really need to be so melodramatic?"

Claude rested a contemplative finger upon his chin. "Oh, you should _see_ the things I have to do for my young master…. In any case, I would have thought that you, of all the host of hell, would have known the dangers of tasting the blood of a human who's not yet been contractually bound to a demon—particularly the blood of a human as powerful and pure as this. _Or_ ," Faustus continued with a mischievous smirk: "Did you merely cave in to your most barbaric appetites? I warrant you could not help yourself. There is so much more to you than that calm and cool façade you wear, isn't there?"

Sebastian's eyes were cold and angry: his glare was fierce enough to kill, but the butler's tightly pursed lips remained expressionless.

"Well, I suppose we should press on." He paused, turning around. "Although we might be assisting each other now, I will be watching you," Claude purred tauntingly, walking away as he once again adjusted his spectacles.

"As will I," Sebastian muttered under his breath, following suit.

* * *

 **Hahaha, WOW! That was intense. Sorry for the lateness of this chapter! I hope it was exciting enough to make up for my two-month long absence! I'm currently in the process of transferring to a new, more exciting job, amongst other things, so I hope you will forgive me.**

 **ANYWAY… so, perhaps you noticed: I have upped the rating of this story to M.** _ **M for Michaelis**_ **.** ;) **No, seriously, though—given the direction I want to take this story in, there will be no small amount of violence, and given that our protagonists are an innocent girl and hungry demons, you might understand the reason I upped the rating, just in case. I personally found writing from the perspectives of Claude and Sebastian to be quite a challenge: that's a good thing for me as a writer, and I hope that it came out as well as I think it did. Anyway, please, don't forget to** _REVIEW_ **! I hope to update again soon. God bless!**


	7. When Illusions Shatter

**Chapter VII:  
When Illusions Shatter  
**

" _Lancelot!"_ Evelyn screamed as she collapsed once again in the middle of the road. Both she and her protective guardian had been walking all night without once pausing to rest—the Shinigami that had been haranguing Miss Cardew back at her home had since discovered that she had managed to escape their clutches, and now, were hot on her trail. So far, with Mr. Beauvair's help, she had managed to remain safe… however, she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold out… _especially_ in those worn old shoes!

But, everything considered, worn shoes were the least of her worries. Miss Cardew was most fortunate that the previous night's events had availed no further catastrophe. With Lancelot's aid, she'd managed to stop the bleeding, and had thrown her persistant pursuers off track for a while—but she knew there was no guarantee that this streak would last. In fact, if anything, she knew that, at any moment, this 'illusion' of peace could shatter like a china vase.

However, despite such bleak facts, Evelyn couldn't help but hope that things could stay quiet for a while longer at least—and that no hostile carriage would come careening down that rural dirt path, leaving nothing but doom in its wake.

For the time being, though, she was more than willing to remain blissfully unaware of any impending danger, for common sense dictated that it was only a matter of time before she need fear for her safety again. She might as well enjoy the quiet while it lasted.

Watching as the young woman struggled to regain her balance, Lancelot Beauvair smiled gently as he approached her: extending his gloved hand with elegance and wordless grace. As he knelt down to her level, a few strands of beauteous, shimmering silver hair flung down in front of his face. "Have you fallen again, my dear lady? My, my. A delicate morning flower such as yourself must not be _used_ to such strenuous activities. Are you quite all right?"

"Yes, thank you," she pouted: taking his hand. She detected a flicker of mischief in his handsome violet eyes, but did not retort at his apparent amusement at her misfortune. Lancelot had been nothing but kind to her—reaching out and believing her when no one else _had_. She owed him so much: in his kindness, he had offered her shelter and protection from all that assailed her, and had earned her wholehearted trust. When her entire world had come crashing down, _he_ had been there to catch her, to comfort her, and to make her feel safe from harm, with no expectations of anything in return.

But, she had to wonder… _why?_

"Mr. Beauvair," she began more formally, clearing her throat: "What _did_ bring you to me, anyway?" When he gave her a puzzled look: furrowing his brow, she chuckled nervously.

"It would have been remiss for me, as a gentleman, to do anything less, my dear lady," he returned, not skipping a beat, as he gave her a polite bow at the waist. "After all, what manner of person would I be to ignore a lady in peril?"

Evelyn tittered nervously. "Y—Yes. I suppose you are right. I apologize." She paused for a moment, reflecting on the manner of his response. His answer had far from sated her curiosity: it had been a safe ploy meant to discourage her from delving deeper, and she knew it. Yet again, she had to wonder… _why?_

If there was anything she had learned in her brief time with Lancelot, it was that he was honorable and trustworthy. Perhaps she should have left well enough alone, but her relentless curiosity nagged at her like a constant drip. Going over everything that had occurred to her recently, _nothing_ seemed to add up, and although she had no reason to doubt the man who had acted as her savior, realizing that she had put such blind faith in him gave her reason to pause.

Sensing her unease, Lancelot looked at the young woman's distraught features and could not help but smile.

Catching his glance from the corner of her eye, Evelyn began to blush out of embarrassment. "I—I really must apologize. I don't mean to sound _ungrateful_ or anything, but… I don't know. It merely seems as though you just happened to show up at just the right time."

"Hush, now," he returned in a soothing tone, smiling sweetly.

"I must sound absolutely ridiculous," she laughed: a note of nervousness pervading her tone.

"No… not at all. It is only natural to search for answers to the inexplicable," Lancelot replied, looking straight ahead. "I am afraid that circumstances forbid me from divulging all you wish to know, both consciously and subconsciously, _but…_ let's just say that… your Father sent me," he responded in a mysterious tone, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"But—but, my father's been dead for a number of years," she mumbled almost under her breath. She opened her mouth to say more, but then, decided against it: biting her lower lip to prevent any stray words from escaping them. Something in the mysterious air of Lancelot's tone urged her not to press any further. And although everything within her screamed for answers, the inexplicable feeling that questioning her escort's reason for keeping certain aspects of his purpose was not one of them. She was in the midst of situations far beyond her control—and what had become crystal clear was that Lancelot Beauvair was the only person who could shield her from her strange and persistent enemy.

Evelyn ventured to shift her gaze a moment, pleased to observe that her loyal guardian had apparently not heard her words of protest… and as she looked at that kind and gentle face that had become all too familiar, she could not help but smile a little.

Although nothing in her life seemed to quite make sense as of late, what mattered most was that she was safe. And perhaps, of all the mysteries that loomed about her in swarms, this is the one she could allow to linger for a while more.

"Stop here," came Lancelot's voice in an urgent whisper: the suddenness of his words penetrating the silence startling the young maiden from her reflective state. He swallowed hard: shifting his gaze stiffly from side to side as he sniffed. "We're not alone."

"You mean that they found us again?!" Evelyn panicked: grasping tightly onto the fancy white sleeve of Lancelot's refined suit jacket.

"No," Beauvair whispered: disgust and the slightest shred of fear lacing his tone. "No, the presence I am sensing is far fouler than anything I've felt in a long, long time."

"I don't understand," Evelyn replied: clinging even closer to Lancelot. For a man as strong and capable as her guardian to reek of fear, after leading her safely thusfar, she _knew_ that whatever this new force was had to be incomparably more dangerous than what they had already faced.

"No, you do not, and it is my fault for keeping the truth from you for as long as I have," Lancelot panted. "At this point, it will be safer for me to tell you _everything."_ His voice took on a vulnerable tone: his violet eyes pleading as turned to her and firmly grasped her shoulders. "Please understand, that everything I've done is to protect you."

"Mr. Beauvair, you are speaking to me in riddles, and I don't believe that this is an appropriate time," Evelyn began: her words biting and full of frustration. "Look, if I am really in such incredible danger, then _please,_ just tell me what it is I am running from!"

"I—"

The unexpected sound of rapidly galloping hooves and frantic whinnying cut Beauvair's words off entirely, leaving him only a split second to realize that an out-of-control carriage was heading _straight for them._

" _Look out!"_ Lancelot exclaimed: tackling Evelyn and pushing her out of harm's way as the carriage charged forward at a breakneck pace.

"Oi! Get off the road!" came the harsh voice of a coachman as the carriage stormed past, only to stop moments later, a few yards ahead, after the driver had regained control of the horse.

Beauvair held Evelyn close: the pair of them quite disheveled after having been forced into the mud to avoid being run over by the frightened horse. Miss Cardew was shaking violently, but, pressing his warm cheek to hers, Lancelot spoke sweet and soothing words that soon had her calmed down a bit.

Grunting and moaning exasperatedly, the short old man hobbled down from his elevated seat on the front of the carriage, and made his way over to the rather sorry-looking pair.

"Ye both are fortunate I didn't kill ye!"

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I hardly see how that was _our_ fault," Lancelot protested in forced tones of civility as he brushed off his jacket. "Indeed, if it were not for my swift discernsion, neither I or this young lady would be here to argue this point with you."

"It's rather brazen of a clearly _incompetent_ fool such as yourself to insist that we are the ones at fault here!" Evelyn exclaimed. "You very nearly killed us! And for that, I believe you owe us an apology!"

"This is a public road!" the man protested angrily. "And prancing about in the middle of a public road is liable to get ye killed!"

"Oh, we were _hardly_ prancing," Lancelot scoffed: coughing into his gloved fist in a vain attempt to mask a laugh. Clearing his throat, he continued: "And, besides, I had no idea that this was a public road. It looks rather desolated to me. Wouldn't you agree with me, Miss Cardew?"

"Indeed," she returned, crossing her arms.

"—In this regard, the feisty lady is correct," came another voice from inside the carriage as a richly-dressed arm and hand waved out the window of the transport as if to illustrate his point.

Evelyn furrowed her brows in confusion.

"This road is a backway into the Trancy estate, my silly little commoner friends." As the owner of the voice alighted from the carriage, a smile fresh upon his exotic face, Evelyn could not help but gasp. The gentleman was clearly foreign—Indian, she gathered, judging by his illustriously smooth bronze skin—and dressed in fabulous royal purple silks and golden trinkets from head to toe. "I am Prince Soma Asman Kadar, son of the king of Bengal. I received a summons from Lord Trancy to be a guest at his estate. At first, I thought it odd, as I have met the young lord only once before, but one must not turn down an invitation from the nobilitity of this land—although I still find English your ways quite strange!" Soma waved his hand melodramatically, almost hitting his strong and silent manservant in the nose. But, clearly too taken up in his speech, he scarcely noticed.

"By the almighty Kali, where are my manners?" the Prince chuckled. "My servant Agni and I are heading up to the main house, now. Might I assume that that is where you and your friend are headed as well?"

Lancelot moved to speak, but one desperate look and a silent but insistent nudge from his charge made him halt, and rethink telling the Indian prince that it actually _wasn't_ their intent to visit the Lord Trancy.

Faltering a moment, Mr. Beauvair muttered a polite 'excuse me', and, placing a hand on Evelyn's shoulder, directed her to a place where they could talk in private.

"What is the matter?" Lancelot urged in saccharine tones. "Why did you prevent me from answering that foreign prince just now?"

"It's just—oh, I don't know," Evelyn pouted, hugging her arms. "I'm tired, and cold, and the idea of a nice, warm bath…."

Beauvair sighed, hanging his head. "Yes. I know. This whole ordeal has been rather taxing on you."

"Surely, it would not hurt to stay for _one night?!"_ she entreated in desperation. "To be free of fear for even that short a while would be so liberating. After all… what could _possibly_ go wrong?! I hear that these estates are like fortresses."

"Well… I really deem it unwise to take such a risk. I am telling you, my dear Miss Cardew, that I really did catch wind of something foul."

"D—Don't you think you could have just been overreacting?" Evelyn argued energetically. "Oh, please! What's the harm? That lord whatever-his-name-is is probably foppish and self-absorbed, won't even notice us."

"I am not an advocate for trickery, but I do suppose you are right," Lancelot conceded, nodding his head once. "We have been tarrying long and hard, and rest would be most welcome." He paused. "Very well. If we are accepted in at the door, then we can stay. _Just for tonight,_ though."

"Thank you, Mr. Beauvair! You really are a dear," Evelyn smiled: planting a kiss on his cheek.

Lacncelot tittered nervously: raising his gloved hand to conceal the beginnings of a blush forming on his pale cheek.

And with that, he turned on his heel, and once again approached the Indian prince.

"I apologize for that, but yes. We are, indeed, heading up to the Trancy estate ourselves. Unfortunately," he almost winced: pained to lie to an innocent, "our—carriage… broke down some way back, and it was taken away for repair."

Prince Soma held up his hand. "Enough! Say no more. Come, I will take you and your companion in my carriage. AGNI!"

"Yes, my Prince?"

"Tell the coachman that we will begin our journey again momentarily. Meanwhile, help these people to our carriage—they look weary."

Bowing slightly at the waist, Agni replied: "As you wish, your highness."

* * *

Time seemed to stand still as the carriage rolled endlessly on—and, truth be told, both of the weary wanderers were glad of it. At long last, their souls, and the soles of their feet, could have a moment of rest. Or, so Miss Cardew thought.

As she watched the gorgeous scenery roll by, Evelyn was amazed at how long the winding dirt road had yet to go. By her reckoning, the Trancy estate must contain endless acres.

"You look greatly fatigued, my lady," Lancelot offered in a hushed whisper. Leaning forward from the other side of the cushioned carriage, he withdrew a handkerchief from his breastpocket and dabbed Evelyn's sweaty brow.

"Thank you, you are too kind," Evelyn muttered in return, giving him the faintest of smiles in turn. "I shall be fine once we reach the estate. I need a good, long, rejuvenating sleep."

"I fear that there is never truly going to be any rest for the purest soul," Lancelot replied in bittersweet tones.

"The—'the purest soul'? Whatever are you talking about, Mr. Beauvair?"

Lancelot scoffed under his breath, and forced a smile. "Never you mind," he broke off. "I shall explain everything later."

* * *

 _ **Meanwhile, back at the Trancy Estate…**_

" _CLAUDE!_ Where the hell is my breakfast?!" came Alois Trancy's screaming voice from all the way from the second floor of the mansion. "Bring it to me _NOW!"_

Claude Faustus groaned as he walked through the front door and draped his soiled jacket on the coat rack by the staircase.

Bringing a balled up, gloved hand to his lips, Sebastian Michaelis coughed in a vain attempt to repress a chuckle. "My, my. The young lord is certainly persistent today. Is he always like this?"

"Insufferably so, I am afraid," Claude returned in a mutter under his breath. "Although, I hardly see how that is any of your concern."

"It is not—although, dear oh dear, I afraid the time most certainly is," Sebastian replied, snapping shut the ornately-engraved silver pocket watch he had just consulted. "It is impersmissable for a butler to be late to serve his master. And, fortunately for me, my young lord does not customarily rise as early as yours."

"As ever, one hell of a butler," Claude sneered. "Is your devotion to Ciel Phantomhive _truly_ your primary concern? You shift your focus from menial duties as a butler to animalistic desires so freely that I am truly at a loss. After last night, I thought that there might still be a shred of your demon nature that was willing to rage for an opportunity such as this: capturing and claiming the Purest Soul, even if it meant risking casting your mask of humanity, and everything else, aside. But, apparently, that _boy_ has turned you into nothing more than an obedient puppy that does his bidding." Faustus's frustration dripped like venom into his words. Clearly, even the perception of a lack of a challenge took all the fun out of this pursuit.

"Not so long ago, was it not your intent to abduct my young master and drink away his soul because you deemed it to be a rare delicacy? You forget yourself, Faustus."

Ignoring that remark, Claude turned his back to the rival butler and re-centered his spectacles on the bridge of his nose: clearing his throat. "So, then… I take it that you are not overwhelmingly disappointed concerning last night's venture?"

When Sebastian did not respond, Claude glared at him. That is, until he realized that, much like the night before, he was completely frozen: only, this time, his ears were very much alert, and his eyes—his eyes were glimmering… a demonic shade… of _red._

"Shh. Don't you smell it?" Sebastian proclaimed urgently: scrunching up his nose.

 _How can_ he _be sensing something that I cannot?_

"What?"

"It's faint, but the scent… it's growing stronger."

"Do you mean…?"

"Pomegranates and vanilla," Michaelis growled, smirking devilishly.

* * *

 **Hi, everyone! I am so,** _ **so**_ **sorry that it's been this long bringing you a new chapter! My life has been nothing short of a crazy cyclone of change. Well, I can promise you this now: due to some unexpected circumstances, I will be able to post much more frequently than I have been! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter… only one more chapter until the demons meet 'the Purest Soul', and until Lancelot Beauvair's true identity is revealed! Also, please tell me if I did a good job representing Prince Soma… I had a hard time finding the right 'voice' for his character, so I hope my representation is at least passable. Please, don't forget to** R&R **! Thank you so much!**


	8. Author's Note

Dear ladies and gentlemen:

It is with great sadness that I must announce that "My Once In a Lifetime", "The Purest Soul", and "A Bed of Roses" have all been put on hiatus. I gather that some of my fans may have already suspected that this was coming, but due to the influx of e-mails I've been receiving lately, I sadly felt I needed to make it official.

It is not that I have lost my desire to write for these fandoms: good Lord, no. And I am even falling in love with Pirates of the Caribbean all over again. No, it is merely life playing cruel tricks with me that prevents me from giving proper attention and devotion to these stories that have become so dear to my heart. My time in college is rapidly coming to an end, and along with the pressure that brings, my personal life has been quite busy as well.

Words cannot even begin to convey how sorry I am about this, and I hope that you all will forgive me. Rest assured, however, that these stories will NOT be abandoned! I am only putting off updating for a while. I pray you all understand. :(

This AN will be deleted after 24 hours, and this tragic announcement will be available on my profile shortly.

God bless,  
Silvertongued Dreams


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